


Pluck This Flower

by vonherder



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Pre-Slash, Soul Bond, Very little dialogue, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonherder/pseuds/vonherder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He held himself a little straighter as they approached the door, a little taller. Tried not to let the weight of the chains show. He swallowed and raised his chin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pluck This Flower

**Author's Note:**

> I had this image stuck in my head all darn day of a hurt Loki and Hulk just sort of standing over him, protecting him. Just had to write it.
> 
> The title is from _Henry IV Part I_ , I think. 'Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety,' I think, but that's all that I remember and I could be wrong and I don't feel like opening another tab to google it because I might be a little bit drunk on elderberry mead a little bit.
> 
> You'll note that I was feeling a little alliterative tonight.

Loki didn't know exactly what to expect, in all honesty. He'd heard stories, yes, of bonds between captor and captive. But those were mostly just stories, cautionary tales.

This bond was real and strong, he could feel it pulsing behind his eyes and at the base of his spine, deep with in his chest and low in his gut, but he could not translate the low rolling rumble that had been his only companion the past months. He did not understand the meaning in the sharp pangs and steadily growing aches, but they were real and reluctantly comforting.

His ribs throbbed. He wondered if the other man could feel that pain through the bond. Surely he could feel the fear and trepidation, but would he understand? Were his own aches just as confusing?

A heavy hand shoved him along, a voice telling him, “Move.”

He held himself a little straighter as they approached the door, a little taller. Tried not to let the weight of the chains show. He swallowed and raised his chin.

Or tired. It was hard, once he passed through the doorway, to keep up the act. The heavy weight of their eyes upon him dragged his shoulders down like they were the shackles upon his wrists.

He must have slowed under the scrutiny because a hand fisted tight in his hair and pushed him along, accompanied by a bark of direction and a quieter, hissed curse.

Loki cast a sweeping glance around the room once and averted his gaze. He could feel the heat rise and redden his cheeks with shame. They all stood about the room, warily watching and waiting. There was a pang of something in his chest that he couldn't name.

He chanced another glance up, meeting the other man's deep brown eyes, and his breath caught. Around him, they were all speaking in deep angry tones, but he did not hear them. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears and feel the tingle of his pulse in his finger tips and see only the deep brown of Bruce's sharp stare.

Around them voices rose and the grip on his hair tightened.

“Release him,” Bruce said, suddenly, cutting through the din, eyes never leaving Loki's.

There were protests and arguments behind him, insults and harsh hands against his bruised back and aching ribs. Loki closed his eyes against the pain.

“ _Release him_ ,” Bruce said again, low and dark. “Now.”

That grip on his hair tightened once and then was gone. Hands, harsh with reluctance and displeasure, made slow work of the shackles about his wrists, neck and ankles. Loki's eyes remained closed and his winces and flinches hidden. 

“Better?” a voice asked and a hand once again gripped tightly at Loki's hair, shaking him harshly. “He is out of his dungeon and out of his chains. What follows, good doctor? Do you want him out of his robes as well?”

Loki swallowed and trembled, biting at the inside of his cheek to keep all his protests and pleads for mercy at bay. _Gods, let him be spared._.

“Release him,” Bruce ground out again.

Loki knew what was coming and tried to steel himself. The hand tightened again and shoved him forward. 

He made a sound of pain, the sprawling crash to the floor jostling his surely cracked ribs. One hand braced on the cool tile, the other pressed to his side, as he tried to rise. Princes did not hunch, they did not sag; they stood straight and tall, even on their knees. 

His chest burned with something that was not his.

The change was sudden. Around him it was silence one moment and the sounds of snapping tendons and cracking bones the next. Loki whimpered and shrank beneath the looming shadow.

With a deafening, thunderous roar, two giant green fists slammed down on either side of him and Loki cried out, jumping back and curling into himself. Gods, it would hurt, but it would be quick. 

_Gods, let it be quick_ , he begged, tears springing to his eyes as he choked on a sob.

Around him, the clamour rose with voices and the drawing of weapons and Loki dropped lower, tears beginning to escape his tightly clenched eyes. Beneath him, the floor shook as those fists slammed down again and again. Another roar blared over his head.

The ache in his chest spread like wildfire, down to the tips of his toes.

Loki shook and opened his eyes. Beneath him, the tiled was cracked, splintering out toward him from the two massive fists bracketing him. 

Not before him, around him. Over him, not on him. 

He raised his eyes afraid that he might meet those seething eyes, but they were not on him. That gnashing snarl and the accompanying growls were not aimed at him, pointed instead toward those behind him.

 _Mine_ , those pangs screamed. _Do not touch. Mine_.

Loki dropped his eyes to the fist closest to his side. All round him, they were yelling and growling threats of war at each other. 

The image of swords shattering and crumpling uselessly against the green wall of rage came to him. They would be killed, surely.

He could imagine the outrage. That he would have been to be delivered to his bond and instead caused a war. They would do, too. A simple thing turned into a blood bath, attributed, no doubt, to Loki's hand. 

He would be sentenced to death, or worse. And Bruce? Hulk? Killing the royal guard? He could not begin to imagine his punishment.

Carefully, Loki reached out a trembling hand, laid it against the hot, straining arm at his left. The change was instantaneous.

Immediately, the had came up and cupped Loki's hip and pulled him closer toward his chest, cradling him close and safe. Loki let out a startled little noise at the movement.

Above him, Hulk snorted, still looking dangerously toward the guards and their drawn swords.

Voices still rose around them.

He pressed a careful hand to the wide expanse of green before him, marvelling at the intense heat beneath. “Please,” he said, unsure if he would be heard over the angry din. “Stop this, please.”

Above him, the mighty jaw clenched, but he remained fixed and tense.

“Please,” he repeated, pressing harder against the hot skin.

All at once the fight was gone from him, and he drew back, dragging Loki even closer.

He relaxed into the hold, dropping his forehead against the warm chest in front of him. All around, voices began to quiet. He could hear Thor's firm, regal voice ringing out with orders for the gaurds back the way they had come, Stark cursing angrily at his side.

He could hear the march of retreating feet. The clang of a discarded shield. The tension being let out of a bow. The holstering of a gun.

Gentle voices and footsteps. Thunder in the distance.

Above him, the gruff voice spoke up, “Mine.”

For what felt like the first time in an age, Loki relaxed. He turned to press his still wet cheek against hot skin and gave a shaking nod and a shakier affirmation, “Mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> This also isn't the breakfast scene.. Nor is it a new chapter of _At least them I could be bitter_ because the coming chapter focuses on Steve and is s'posed to be action-y but Steve doesn't live in my head and I don't participate in action so I'm spending a lot of time floundering my way though shoot 'em ups for inspiration which isn't as fun as I had hoped it would be.
> 
> But whatever. At least I wrote _something_ in its stead instead of stalling for inspiration as I am won't to do.


End file.
